Letters to a Soldier
by Pakmai
Summary: Captain John Watson is a soldier in Afghanistan. Sherlock Holmes has just been admitted to a drug rehab facility, assigned to write a letter to an unknown soldier. He doesn't expect to get a letter back from someone as interesting as John. John doesn't expect to get letter from a recovering drug addict. Together they form an unlikely friendship through letters. Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, so this is a bit of a different style for me, it's going to be formatted in a series of letters with a little blurb at top or bottom describing where John or Sherlock are when writing, their thoughts or something like that. I am not including dates, but figured that there's one to two letters a month so you have an idea of passage of time. :) I will be posting one letter every week. So I hope you enjoy!**

**I do not own the characters of Sherlock, I am just using them for my own amusement. :D**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**

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Sherlock sighed as he sat down at his desk, pulling over his pad of lined paper, picking up his pen. His room is stark white, only a few posters on the walls, and no personal items. He's here to detox, afterall, why does he need anything personal? He does have a few books, but then, he's only been here a little over a week when this was forced on him. Outside his room he can hear other inhabitants of this facility, and the sounds of the fountain outside. Considering for a moment, he decides to relocated and after putting on some shoes he heads out into the cold, damp air, ignoring the temperature to find a dry spot under a tree on the grounds of the facility to sit down and finally put pen to paper. It's quieter out here and it allows him to think easier.

~oOo~

Dear Soldier,

I find it ridiculous to address this to anyone since it will be given to an anonymous soldier. However, it is a condition of my rehabilitation. I am not a criminal. I want to make that clear. I am, however, a recovering drug addict. That is what I am told to say at least. I am not sure if it should be defined as an addiction, but after nearly overdosing, my brother has committed me to what I will call a prison. Seeing as I am not allowed to leave until I finish the 'program' and follow the steps they wish me to go through.

The packet I was given regarding this program says that soldiers enjoy hearing news from home. However, seeing as I neither know if you are male or female, old or young, or anything about you, I see no way I could tell you anything that would be remotely interesting. I do not follow sports. I do not follow politics. The weather however, is the one solid thing that I believe I can tell you about. It is cold and raining. Likely very different than where you are.

Seeing as how most of the soldiers serving overseas are either in Afghanistan or Iraq, I imagine you are getting a dose of very warm, dry weather right about now. Understatement, actually, but I see no reason to go into detail about what I know about the weather conditions where you are. Obviously you are aware of them seeing as you are essentially living there.

There's little else that I can tell you besides this: I am a consulting detective. Or I will be as soon as I get out of this facility. Which means that when the police or others have problems solving cases, then they will come to me. There is a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard who has agreed to allow me to look at some cold cases until he is convinced of my usefulness. Provided I get clean. Motivation to not just escape this imbecilic facility, I suppose.

Convention says that I should ask you how you are holding up, but I hardly think you would tell a stranger the truth. Normal people would not want to burden others will their ills or somesuch nonsense. I would like to assure you that I would not be burdened. I am truly interested in your condition and the ones you are living under. I would prefer the truth, insomuch as you can provide it. If you wish to write back. I suppose there's no guarantee of that. Those that run this facility can hardly fault me for trying. If no one writes back to me, I cannot be punished. Likely they would tell me that I was too truthful, or not sympathetic enough. However, I see no reason to lie to you about who and what I am. If you prefer a fantasy, I suggest you choose a letter from a gender of your choice who will tell you all the lovely, pretty, flowery things you could hope for. All of which will be fake.

If you choose to continue to correspond with me, then I can promise you I will never lie. It does not benefit either of us for me to do so. You should also be aware that I am a high-functioning sociopath, so I will not display a high degree of sympathy or empathy. It is hard to imagine you were not aware of the possibility of deployment when you joined the armed forces. Therefore this was your choice. I am also very intelligent, and that is not an exaggeration or boasting, it is a quantifiable fact. I have been tested, I have a higher IQ than the average.

I could kill for a cigarette.

I also have no access to white out in order to erase my mistakes. Therefore, unless you wish me to scribble out anything that may not be intentional, I will leave whatever I write, whether or not it is unorganized or if some things may not make sense in the context they are written.

It may provide some distraction if you were to write back and perhaps give me something to look forward to, however, I will not be waiting with baited breath. It is likely that I will forget about this letter a few days after I have sent it. Reply if you wish. If you choose to, I will continue the corespondance. If not, I wish you good fortune and safety.

Sincerely,

Sherlock Holmes

~oOo~

In the heat of the day, listening to the flapping of the tent, Dr. John H. Watson is taking a little bit of rest. He's finished his shift in the 'hospital', which is really just the medical tent that they have set up, the tent that he shares with some of the other doctors being blissfully empty at the moment. Sighing a little as he strips down to his t-shirt, John catches sight of something on his cot. Ah yes, it's one of the small packages from the programs people back home do for soldiers. The items are sent to random soldiers, and it seems that he's the one getting it this time. Since he's never gotten one before he's not sure what to expect. Sitting down on the cot he pulls the twine off the three or four letters that he has, reading a few over slowly and shaking his head at how fake and generic they seem to be. Then he comes across a different one. He can practically smell the London rain on it, and he takes a deep breath with his nose pressed against the paper before he opens it, looking at the small black scrawl. And the more he reads, the more he is intrigued, even finding himself chuckling at this odd addict – no, this odd man – who has written him. And for the first time in a long time, he feels like he has something to look forward to, to lighten his mood, thanks to this mysterious Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a day before John had the chance to sit down and write his curious new pen pal. In a way he was glad for the time in between, because it gave him time to think of what to write. Unlike Mr. Holmes, he wanted to say something that would intrigue the so-called high-functioning sociopath. Not that he thought he had any hope of that. Once again, after his shift, he retreated to the solitude of his tent to pull out a notebook that was slightly worn around the edges, grabbing a pen out of his pocket before he begins to compose his reply.

~oOo~

Dear Mr. Holmes,

Thank you for your letter, anonymous though it may have seemed to you at the time. I received a few other letters from the same program and you're right, the empty platitudes were impersonal and empty. Your letter made me smile and distracted me from my surroundings, which is what I crave the most, a momentary distraction from the fighting around me.

Right now, I am not a soldier on the front lines. I am Dr. John Watson. Or Captain if you prefer, since that is my proper rank. I am a medical doctor, part of Her Majesty's medical corps. I try and heal the wounded that come back to our camp. And I have had more than one die from their wounds on my table, even if my success rate is higher than others. There has also been more than one young man or woman who I have sent back to England because of their wounds.

I have been in the Army most of my adult life, after medical school of course. I miss London and its rain, its people, the bustle of the city. Hell, I even miss the bloody pollution. But mostly the rain. You're right, it hardly ever rains here, and when it does, the evidence seems to be gone within a few hours, it seems like. Maybe that's just my perception though.

I am interested to know more about you, though. How did you get into drugs? And I have no doubt that it was quite a problem if you are in a facility to help you break it. And how old are you? From your letter I would guess fairly young, but maybe I am just getting so old that everyone sounds young. Heh. Old of mind at least, I would like to think I am not too old physically yet. I know I can't do much from thousands of miles away, but if you want to talk about it, I'm willing to listen. I am a doctor after all.

Not sure what else I could tell you or even how long this letter will take to reach you, but I will loom forward to your reply sometime in the next month. Make sure to let me know how the treatment is going. You can even tell me about others who are there with you, if you like. I suppose I will end this since I've run out of things to say. Feel free to ask me anything, I'll do my best to answer you.

Sincerely,

John Watson

~oOo~

When the letter arrived, Sherlock was holed up in his room, bored and trying not to think about needing something to distract him, even a cigarette at this point, but sadly even those are forbidden. The slightly battered letter with the military return address is delivered to him, making the young brunette stare at it for a few moments. After opening it reading about this Dr. John Watson, Sherlock smirks a little, leaning back in his desk chair, he steeples his fingers in front of him. Oh, yes, this could provide a pleasant distraction, indeed. But before his reply, he has to do a little research on this army doctor, see what he can to turn up, so he pulls out his laptop to log onto the facility's wifi and bring up a search engine. A slow smile spreads over his face before he excitedly mutters, "The Game is on!"

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**First of all, thank you so much for the amazing response you guys have given me in regards to this idea. You guys rock and you make me want to write more and give you more to (hopefully) enjoy! :D**

**Unlike a lot of my stories, I'm not paying attention to word counts on this one, so sorry if some chapters are really small and others are larger. I'm truly trying to write them as letters. And I don't know about anyone else, but when writing a letter, I just put in what I put in and it will be as long as it needs to be. :)**

**I hope you enjoy this as much as the first one. I am aiming at eventual Johnlock, just to make that clear. :) I have a bunch of chapters finished already, but I will only be updating this once a week, on Tuesdays. This chapter is a little early because I don't really have anything else to update tonight, and I wanted to update SOMETHING. :)**

**I hope you guys enjoy! Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

There was not that much information for Sherlock to find out about Captain John Watson, M.D., but what he was able to find out was that he was around 30 years of age and was a decorated officer and a skilled surgeon, cited as being quite selfless in regards to his own safety or well being when trying to save a patient or at least tend to them. Other than that and the fact that he was currently deployed the detective could find very little information from the meager resources at his disposal. So once again he brings his pad outside to sit under a tree with his pad of paper to write another letter.

~oOo~

Dear Dr. Watson,

Please call me Sherlock. I choose to address you by Doctor because I find it to be the worthier profession. I do not have any disdain for the armed forces, I merely find more honor in those who choose to save lives. You prove an interesting dichotomy, the soldier and the doctor, taking lives and giving life back. Quite an interesting mixture. Why did you choose to join the Army? I hope it was not something so mundane as to get money for schooling.

Life here has proven to be more dull than I had originally thought. It has been interesting to analyze and deduce those around me, but since there are so few, that it has quickly become as boring as everything else in this facility. For a mind like mine, it is torture to sit dormant, like a rocket trapped on the launch pad, tearing itself apart.

To answer your questions, I am 25, and I got into drugs because I was bored. I wanted a distraction. I was curious. And oh what a distraction it was. Unfortunately it did not send me into some blissful nothingness, but it sharpened all of my senses, made everything that much clearer, enabled me to do some very interesting experiments. I met that Detective Inspector I told you about, on a high one evening. I saw the police tape and walked over. I don't remember what exactly I said to him, but I do remember that his team is completely incompetent.

Still, I craved that focus, that clarity that I got when I was high. In a way I still do. Of course, I am told that is all part of my recovery, learning not to crave that. I haven't told anyone but I think that's impossible. I will crave that focus, whether or not it comes from a drug or something else.

I looked you up online. It appears that you are roughly 5 years older than I am, and you're quite decorated. You've done a great deal to serve Queen and Country. Do you intend to remain in the army for the rest of your life? There isn't a great deal I can do from where I am, but I feel I should offer, if there is anything you need, let me know and I will see if I can provide it.

My therapist should be happy about that. She is concerned that I show no concern for humanity or the feelings of others. Sociopath, as I said. I do not have tolerance for the stupidity of the masses. I do not retain information that I do not need. My mind is like a hard drive, I can store information I need, delete what I do not. People clutter up their minds with so much useless information that they can't see what's important. People see but they do not observe, they cannot use what meager intelligence they might have.

There are other things I could tell you I suppose, but I'm not sure what you might want to know. I suppose I should ask about your family, if you have any siblings. Pleasantries can be so bothersome. Best to get them out of the way. I suppose I have given you enough information in this letter for you to formulate an adequate reply. I look forward to your next letter.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

When the letter came, John actually found himself a little excited and interested to see what his new pen pal might have written him. He's pretty sure that most people reading the letter might find at least some of it offensive, but the doctor just finds it amusing and interesting. He imagines that Sherlock might be a little odd and maybe a bit frustrating to talk to, but he still thinks it would be interesting, and that is one of the reasons he decides to keep writing to him.

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**Alright.. By popular demand, a second chapter this week! And because I haven't gotten one written for any of my other stories yet, and it seriously irks me to go a day without posting SOMETHING. I think I might be a bit OCD about my fanfiction posting habits. Lol. :D But mostly it's because you lovely people wanted it, and I am a sucker. :D**

**I hope everyone continues to enjoy this, I am still writing more chapters for it so you'll have a lot to read! :)**

**As always, Comments/Reviews welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

It takes John longer than he would have liked to write back, but it was a bad, busy week, and he barely has time to think about writing a letter, between gunfire and the repercussions fro that, which mean long days in the medical tents. When he finally gets a chance to sit down and write, he's tired, but he wants to get things off his chest before he tries to get some sleep.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

I apologize for not writing back any sooner. It's been a bad time. I feel like I haven't slept in two weeks. To answer your questions, yes, I am 30 years old, I don't think I want to do this for the rest of my life, but I've been doing it so long I almost can't imagine doing anything else. I have one older sister, who I don't get on with, and my parents are dead. I have no other relatives I am close to.

I had always planned on settling down and having a family, but again, I don't know if that will happen at my age. I never had any problems with attracting a partner for a night or a few dates, but that is different than a commitment. And that's not bragging on my part, just experience. My mates here nicknamed me 'Three Continents Watson', if that gives you sny clues.

You said something about deducing in your last letter. I am so tired that I can't seem to find it. Regardless, I was wondering what you meant? I'm not sure what you meant when you said you deduce people? I am interested in knowing more, even if I get the feeling that it's just going to give you an excuse to show off. I don't mind.

I need something to distract me on days like today. I have spent the last few days in scrubs. I can't give you many details, but it was bad. There were some that I knew I couldn't do anything for, I just had to make them comfortable and wait for death to claim them. I grabbex an hour or two sleep where I could, but I still feel worn out, worn thin. Like tissue paper pulled tight, anything could break me. But I keep up a brave front for the other doctors and nurses, thos in my unit. 'Don't ever let them see you cry', that is what my father used to tell me during my football days. He was the type who believed men should not cry in the first place. And no matter what I have learned, about how cathartic it can be, medically speaking, I still suffer alone.

I'm sorry, is that too much information? Too much emotion for you? I can't seem to help it. It's much easier to open up to someone thousands of miles away who you have never met than it would be to talk to anyone else. I have my bad days, when it seems hopeless, like we're fighting an uphill battle, and the nightmares come. But there are good days, too. Days when the heat breaks, the sun is out, and everyone comes home in one piece. Those are good days. We have to focus on the good days, you and I, or I get the feeling we will both spiral into the black depths.

I am willing to be your anchor if you would be willing to be mine. Tell me more about the weather in London, is summer in full swing yet? There is an outdoor area where you are, I swear I could smell London rain on your first letter. What does it look like?

Please do this for me. I look forward to your next letter. Write soon.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Sherlock let out a breath as he leaned back against the headboard, running his fingers over the text of the letter, looking at the places where the ink smudged slightly under one or two tears that must have fallen. The strong soldier, the strong doctor, alone in his tent feeling so weak. Yes, Sherlock could and did sympathize to an extent. Not only that, but for the first time, he desperately wanted to help another person, this person. So he set to work, determined to give John what he needs.

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**Ahhh. Feels. Thank you everyone who has reviewed/favorited. This has got way more of a response than I was expecting. So thank you! Hope you enjoy this chapter, I will post another next week!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

It takes a few days and some finagling with the facility's staff to allow Sherlock to have what he needs, but he manages to make a few sketches from memory of London, and of the garden outside the back of the facility. Of course, those are not from memory. He's quite good at drawing actually, always has been, it's just never been something he felt that he had a reason to hone, it was a somewhat useless skill, in his eyes. He only wishes he had the facilities necessary to bottle a scent. He's never been good at that sort of thing, but he is a genius, who is fairly confident that he could accomplish it if he wanted to. Still, he hopes that the things he sends with this letter will be of some help to the doctor.

~oOo~

Dear John,

My deductions can wait for another time. As well as anything I may feel as a desire to prove my skills. It seems there are other things you need right now. I'm not a sympathetic person. I am not adequately equipped to deal with emotions. But I understand what you told me.

Everyone has their own darkness, I am fighting it every day at this facility. I had a choice when I was younger, I could have become a serial murderer, a criminal, probably one of the best, most dangerous that London has ever seen. Instead, I chose the other side of the coin, with the desire to solve crimes, not commit them. It's a dangerous game, being able to get into the mind of a criminal. In my case, the idea of jail, of being imprisoned in a cell without any way to explore, expand my mind and my knowledge, is all the deterrent that I need.

I cannot claim to understand what you went through, what you continue to go through when you lose a patient, that desire to heal and comfort. I don't possess that. I know you still cry, even if you can't let the others see. But you're not alone, even in the dark. In the dark, you can't see, hear or feel, but you're not alone. I'm there with you, in the darkness. We will anchor each other to this world, John. When you feel yourself get low, go to the places where you think you might drown in the darkness, then talk. Talk to the darkness, and I will be here listening on the other side of the void.

Whenever you need to talk, whatever you need to express, I'll be here to listen. If that is what I can provide, then I will. You are far too fascinating to be allowed to drift. Perhaps that's not the appropriate thing to say, but that's how I feel. The metaphors seem a little excessive but I thought you might prefer the sentiment. And in a way it is accurate. When you write something down, you have no idea if it will reach its destination. You are writing it to no one. Sending it out into the void. Only when you get my letter in reply do you know the message was received, and the same is for me as well. I'll be here if you want someone to talk to. I have a year in this facility, before I will have to provide you with a new address. Assuming you still want to write to me then, or are still alive.

As for the weather here, it's been warmer than usual. Humid. Thoroughly unpleasant. It has created some rather spectacular thunderstorms however. It's unfortunately I wasn't able to get any real pictures. Today is foggy, the way only England seems to be able to get. I'm sure you understand. Everything has a dreamlike quality. There's a small pond on the property here that looks like it is producing the fog, tendrils of it curling around on the water. The garden out back has a pond as I said, bit of woods with a walking trail and a manicured flower garden. There is a tree that I like to sit under to write, it has a wide space between two of the roots. It's an old tree with large branches. It provides shade, a break from the temperatures, and it hides it somewhat from the rest of the facility.

My descriptions are surely not adequate, so I have provided a few sketches instead. I hope that they will provide you the escape you were looking for. I will try and provide you with more information for my next letter, once I determine what news might be of relevance.

For what it is worth, I don't think that you are too old to begin a family, or merely find someone who you want to spend the rest of your life with. As you so colorfully pointed out, it does not seem as if you have any problems attracting a partner. I hope you get your rainy day.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

When John opens the slightly larger than normal envelope from Sherlock, he is confused for a few moments, wondering if the detective had truly written that much. When he sees the beautifully rendered sketches that are included with the letter, he stares a little, laying back on his cot as he touches the photos as if they might be alive. Laying the sketches down on his stomach, he switches to reading the letter, smiling a little. When the younger man switches from touching and metaphoric to his usual analytical tone of writing, it makes John laugh, attracting the attention of some of the other people in the tent. He quiets himself but finishes the letter and he nods, glancing out one of the 'windows' of the tent and up into the night sky, then tucks away the letter with the others, while he taps the sketches to the tent by his cot.

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**I thought I remembered Sherlock drawing in the series somewhere but now I can't find it or remember where I saw it. I could be imagining things. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

After a day of thought, John decides to make his reply to Sherlock, after staring at the sketches for an hour or so. By now a few of his unit are making fun of his pen pal, asking the doctor if he's got a woman back home that he keeps writing to, especially since he goes off to be alone every time he gets one of the letters, to read it in private. It's not that he's ashamed of writing to the detective, or receiving the letters, he just feels that the first time he reads it he wants to be alone. It's the same when he's writing his letters. Today he finds a spot in the shade outside one of the tents since it's a decent day as far as days go in the desert, leaning back against an unused generator to write his letter.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

Your sketches were beautiful. Thank you. You have an amazing talent. Have you done anything with it? I know you said you're the consulting detective, but do you ever do anything with your drawing?

I feel as if we've made some odd pact with our last letters. I mean, of course it was an agreement, but it feels deeper than that. It's hard to describe without getting colorfully metaphoric as you put it. And since you seem to disapprove so heavily of that, I'll just have to restrain myself. Just know that it's not a bad thing. I feel like I have more of a purpose. Ah, it's just odd. There's no good way for me to describe it. Naturally.

For the record, I think you're more sympathetic than you let on, maybe you just keep it all bottled up to keep yourself from getting hurt. Given the fact that you're a self-proclaimed genius, I bet it was hard for you to make friends when you were a kid, yeah? Better to shut it all down, shut everyone out, than risk getting hurt. Am I right? Or even close?

I figure that turnabout is fair play and you never said. Do you have any siblings, parents still in the picture? Someone cared about you enough to put you in that facility, I assume. Wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? You've made your disdain for that rehab facility quite clear so I assume you didn't check yourself into it.

I hope that is all going well, by the way. That they're keeping you from relapsing and all of that. Oh. Felt I should say, I understand your desire for a cigarette. That particular habit is something I picked up after I joined the army. They told me it would calm my nerves and I figured since there was the possibility of getting shot at, what the hell, why not? I've pretty much kicked it now, except when I'm extremely stressed. Like last time I wrote to you, I think I smoked a whole pack. And now I have to start all over again with that. It's nothing compared to what you're going through I'm sure, but as far as your desire for cigarettes goes, I can sympathize with that. It really is not a good habit, and as a doctor, I could tell you exactly what it does to your body. None of it good.

Since I mentioned it to you, I've been thinking about what I might do if I ever get out of the army. Well, I should rephrase that. When I get out of the army, not if. Probably end up as a surgeon or a GP somewhere. Little house in the suburbs. Maybe a wife. I thought about all of that, having it all, and the first thing that came to mind was that it sounds bloody boring. I think I would have a better chance of shooting myself if I went down that path, than I ever would here. Which leaves me wondering what I would really do. Stay in London, I think. I doubt I could afford it on an army pension however, so I'd have to find a job. A doctor is the only thing I'm good at, so it would have to be surgeon or GP. Then we get back into the boring part again. Maybe I could get a job down at the morgue or something. No, I'm really better with live people than dead. Perhaps emergency room would be exciting enough. I'm just really not sure anymore. The only thing I am sure of is that I don't want to be doing this for the rest of my life. I've already survived a lot, why should I tempt fate? Though I'm sure you don't believe in fate.

I'd like to hear about your deductions, since you skipped over it in the last letter. I'm very curious about why the police consults with you, and what makes you so confident that you can solve cases that the police can't. I'm truly, honestly curious, so please tell me more about that in your next letter. There may be a delay in my response next time, I heard a mention that we might be moving bases soon so the army will have to forward all the mail to the new location. And I am sure you can imagine how long it takes the bureaucracy to figure things out like that. So it might be a bit before I reply to your next letter. Just so you don't worry. Not that I think you would worry, you don't really seem the type to worry. But just in case you are the type, I didn't want you to.

Almost time for my shift, so I had better finish this up so I can grab something to eat in the mess before I am on duty. Thank you again for your letters, I really do enjoy getting them, and writing in return.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

It is a few days before Sherlock is allowed to have the letter, after it arrives, since he caused a bit of a commotion. Being him and being bored is not a good thing, leading to him outing two people who were getting drugs from outside, along with saying exactly how they were getting drugs, and so the facility sort of went into lock down until they could find the source and verify Sherlock's claims, then get rid of the proper people, etc. But when Sherlock finally gets the letter, he shuts the door to his room and curls up on his meager bed to read it. It seems that he's found his new addiction, his new drug, in this army doctor half a world away.

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**I have a bunch more chapters already worked up, but here is the next, I hope you enjoy it as much as the last ones! I really enjoy writing this, and you guys have been awesome. Posting this a tad early this week because I won't have time the rest of the week. Work. Ugh. I wish I could just spend my day writing about these two, lol! Ah well.**

**Thank you again for the lovely reviews, I love knowing you guys are enjoying this. Let me know what you think of this chapter!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Sherlock writes his new letter, it's starting to get colder and the trees are changing. He's had to wait a little bit to write because of a few things that came up for him, a big murder case in the news that he's been trying to get someone to listen to him about. Naturally that means he's a bit obsessed with it and everything falls to the wayside under his single-minded focus. And it also means that when he does sit down and write, he's a little upset.

~oOo~

Dear John,

The world is full of idiots, and most of them have decided to work for Scotland Yard! Have you heard about the serial murderer in London, the one that likens himself to Jack the Ripper? It's so obvious, but I can't get anyone at Scotland Yard to listen to me, not even Detective Inspector Lestrade, who I believed previously had faith in my abilities. They are all idiots of the highest order.

I could tell from the meager descriptions from the various news stories that this is the work of more than one killer. Oh yes, some of them were done by the same person, but there is at least one other person involved, either as an accomplice or a copycat. I wouldn't know that unless I was allowed to examine the actual bodies, but instead I am stuck in this bloody facility!

Unsurprisingly, I was able to gain access to some crime scene photos, and I have seen that they missed virtually everything of importance. And while they ignore my advice, more young women are being killed. They think that there is no pattern to the women but they don't see the truth. They see but they do not observe. The hair! They haven't looked at the hair! All of the victims were brunette's, though of course some of them dyed their hair, apparently it was not dramatic enough for them to notice during the autopsy the curtains didn't match the carpet, to use a crude phrasing. They also all had similar skin tones. Some of them used artificial tan to achieve it, you can tell by the very faint orange tinge to some of their skin, but the medical examiner seems to have completely missed that! Or they don't think it's significant, since lots of women want to appear tan and fit, especially coming out of summer when they are not able to enjoy the sun's rays the same as they were previously and they are oh-so afraid of being the least bit pale!

There is no possible way that the crime scene investigators could have been so incompetent as to miss some of these clues! And here I am, willing to give them the clues, not asking for money or fame in return, and they choose to ignore me!

This is all I can do, write letters. Write to another idiot who asks such inane questions such as who am I romantically involved with? The answer is no one. There is no one. There is nothing but the Work, and if my elder brother had not had me committed, I could have had this case solved two murders ago! He's always interfering with my life, keeping an eye on me because he claims to care about me, yet he is the one who says caring is a disadvantage. He is ten years my senior, you see, and he was more of father to me than ours who was never around. And Mummy treated my intelligence and deductive skills as a disease, sent me to psychiatrists and doctors for most of my youth until I learned to just stop talking around her unless it was to be the good little son, an act which I became very good at. And the reason I now avoid all family functions. My brother was and is the politician, the one who is good at saying the right things to people and getting them to like him even though he is an insufferable arse.

I want out of this bloody place. And I want a goddamned cigarette!

After that last sentence, one of the workers came in to see what the commotion was about after I threw a vase across the room. I was not sedated, but they took me outside until I could calm down. I thought about re-writing this, but I did say that I would not do that, that you would have to deal with whatever passed from my mind to my pen. And now you know of my temper. Everything I said, however, is true. Even about my brother and mother. My father passed away some years ago, so the only ones of my family left are my older brother who holds a position in the government, and my mother, who chooses to wile away her years with her friends doing who knows what, or staying home.

I hope you won't be too upset by anything I said. My anger got the better of me, it seems. I hope you are well.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

After reading the letter, John sits back in their new barracks for the doctors and medical staff, staring at it a little. He can see and feel the deep indentation from where he pressed harder on his pen at certain points through the paper in his anger. It surprises and worries John that Sherlock is that frustrated and angry, not because the anger itself scares him, but because he doesn't want the detective to do anything to harm himself. No doubt by now the younger man has forgotten all about his verbal outburst since the date on it is nearly a month prior to him getting it. Knowing he has more things to do and cannot reply right away, John looks at the letter once more, running his fingers over the words slowly before he nods, folding it neatly back up into it envelope to tuck it away with its companions.

* * *

**Bonus chapter for you all because today I reached 100 Followers! Wow. Seriously. You guys are awesome. I am so glad you guys think that this strange little idea I had is worth your time. :) I love you guys. And thank you to everyone who has reviewed as well, I love knowing you guys enjoy this. :) Thank you again!**

**Reviews/Comments as always, are most welcome. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

By the time John gets to replying to the letter it's the around the beginning of October, and John thinks about the cooling weather in London, how the leaves will be changing colors. When he writes though, it's one of the rare times that it's raining, so John is sitting by the doorway with his notebook, watching the rain come pouring down.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

I have to say I was a little surprised. I didn't think you would be the type to be angry like that. Don't worry, you haven't scared me off yet. It's interesting to know that's how you react to situations like that. Don't worry, there's a reason I'm in the army. I can understand your frustration though. I hope that they listened to you in the end, though as I write this, this is a little over four weeks since your last letter. And it will be another few until you actually receive it.

I'm sure, compared to you, I am an idiot. I'm just an average guy, nothing special as far as intelligence goes, though I'd like to think I'm at least good at my job. I can't fault you for telling the truth in that aspect.

There's nothing that I can really say that will help about your older brother. I'm the younger sibling, but I have an older sister. I'm sorry that he's so overbearing. But it sounds like being in rehabilitation is good for you, it's what you need. And I'd hate to stop hearing from you only to somehow find out you had overdosed. We've only been writing, but I worry about how you're doing sometimes. So I hope you're doing well.

It's raining here, for once. I love the smell of the rain. It makes me miss London. Are the trees changing color? I bet the temperatures have started dropping as well. The Christmas decorations will start coming out soon, I'll bet. I wish I could see the first snow fall. Blimey, I haven't seen snow for years. At least not except from afar, I can see it on top of some of the mountains sometimes.

Normally I give up my spot for Christmas leave, because I really don't have anyone to go home to, besides Harry, and I don't want to spend a Christmas with her and listen to her say how she'll get sober this year. I never told you that, did I, that Harry was an alcoholic? Anyway, she is. Keeps saying she'll try to get sober, sometimes manages it for a few weeks, but never for long.

I gave up my spot this year as well, so while I will get a few days off, I won't be leaving this area. Too bad, really. Maybe next year I'll go to London, and we could meet face to face. Well, just a thought to consider. We've had the usual stuff, but nothing big going on here. For me, at least, it's been pretty quiet and routine.

I like watching the others around this time of year. You can tell the ones that have relatives, significant others back home, or are just new. They get more rowdy, more energetic around this time of year. Because they know that soon they might be able to see their loved ones again. Hell, the only time I enjoyed leave when I was younger was when I knew I could hit the bars, pick someone up for a night or two, enjoy something brief before I had to go away again.

Long distance relationships never worked out for me. I've been told that I have some trust issues. And that doesn't help the whole long distance relationship thing. I keep going on and on about that in my letters, don't I? Must just be the time of year. I don't really think about it a lot until I'm trying to think of something to write to you. I don't even want to know what a psychiatrist would say about that. I suppose it means that it's floating around somewhere in my mind.

I hope the rehab is going good for you, beyond the obvious problems with withdrawal and everything. And you never have explained the whole deduction thing. So I look forward to finally hearing about that. Something more about yourself as well maybe. I feel like I've told you a lot about me but I still know very little about you.

Looks like it's about time for my shift, and the rain is still going. Hope nothing leaks around here. I look forward to your next letter.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

True to his estimation, it's almost November before Sherlock gets the letter, and he's so relieved to get it, he finds his hands shaking a little in his haste to open it. Of course, as soon as he gets it open and realizes what happened, he pauses and stares at his hands for a moment, examining his feelings, how he was so hopeful when someone said he had mail, and excited, nervous, relieved when he found out it was from John. He's never really had friends, so this sort of experience is novel for him. It's also worrying since it puts cracks in the walls of his carefully constructed emotional control. Still, reading the letter makes him smile and look out the window at the leaves that have nearly all gone from the trees. Once again, he starts making plans, since he knows the next letter might not get there until closer to Christmas.

* * *

**Christmas! I have big plans for their next Christmas. :) I am about 10 chapters ahead in actually writing this versus posting it, so rest assured there is plenty more to come! Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed, I love hearing from you! I hope that I continue to live up to expectations. :)**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	9. Chapter 9

While the letter is finished easily, it takes Sherlock a bit longer to order the other things that he's looking for and complete everything that he puts into a package for John, hoping that it gets there in one piece. He even includes a Christmas card just for kicks, though that's surprisingly hard to find in the middle of November. Still, it has a picture of London all decked out in Christmas lights so he thought that was something John would appreciate.

~oOo~

Dear John,

Things are going well for me, thank you. I am completing the program with surprising ease after the first few weeks of.. well, let's call it a transition period. That was rather difficult. But I find that as long as I have something else to stimulate my mind the cravings are easy to ignore. Writing to you has, surprisingly, helped me a great deal. When this was forced on me, I doubted I would get a reply, and I doubted even if I did that it would help.

As for Christmas, we would not be able to meet face to face this year, I have to stay in this facility for a year, minimum. That is what my brother informed me in any case. If, after that, I believe I can return to society without returning to my former drug-using ways, then I will be allowed out. So it seems as if next Christmas would be the first time we would be able to meet face to face anyway. I think by then we will have written enough letters that it would not be considered strange. And, once I get out of this place and if you are able, I could provide you with my phone number if you wish.

I hope you enjoy the presents I have enclosed. Since you don't have family that would be likely to send you presents, and you will not be coming home, I thought I would do my best to send you a little bit of home instead. Hopefully none of it will be confiscated and it will all reach you intact.

You wished to know about my deductive skills. I can tell details about a person from things I observe, from their occupation, to their marital status and other details of their lives. So far from your letters I can tell certain things about you. You were well educated even before you decided to become a doctor, shockingly you have rather good handwriting which means that your school put quite a bit of emphasis on it, but not enough to force you to learn to write with your right hand. I got ahead of myself a little there. You're left-handed, I can tell by the way the words are slightly smudged from your hand going over them after you've written, something you don't usually find with a right-handed person. You don't usually write at a desk, but probably on your legs, judging by the varied angles at which you write. But every page you've sent me has been from the same pad of paper, one that I would guess you use exclusively for writing these letters, judging by the matching wear along the edges and the curling along the bottom of the paper that is visible even after they have spent so much time in envelopes. Not to mention a few matching stains.

I would guess you are a confident person judging by the sharp, precise strokes, you don't hesitate in your writing, you think it over beforehand. I already know you're a doctor which indicates a caring for people in general, as does the fact that you are a soldier. You want to protect people. Maybe because as a child you were unable to protect yourself or someone you love. Given that your sister is an alcoholic, I would guess you could not protect her, probably from your father, who was most likely also an alcoholic. Something else that might motivate you to enter the army, get as far away from that household as possible. A doctor could have done that, which indicates you might also have some problems with anger or perhaps you merely enjoy the adrenaline rush of being a field surgeon. Alcoholism is often found between parents and children. Clearly you disapprove because you know what kind of lifestyle it can lead to.

If I saw you in person I would be able to determine much more. But I'm afraid that's all I can deduce about you from your handwriting. Besides that you are very clean. Since there is no doubt a need to conserve water, when it's not available you use hand sanitizer, the smell is transferred onto the letter. Barely detectable, but the same scent is there on enough of them for me to be able to identify it.

The weather has turned cold, the leaves are off the trees and we had the first snowfall the other night. It didn't stay around long, but it was quite beautiful. You're right, Christmas decorations have started to go up, and I hope you like the card I included with it, to give you a little taste of what I am sure London will look like in another week or two. The other residents here and the employees have started decorating for Christmas, but I have never felt a need for such things.

Like you, the employees here have encouraged me to work on my sketching and since I can do very little else. By now, all of the other residents avoid me. They do not like hearing the truth about themselves, it seems. I hope you enjoy my second attempt at sketches, which I believe is much better than the original ones I sent you.

I hope you have not had any more bad days. I feel that I should reassure you that you know more about me than anyone else of my acquaintance. Except possibly my brother, but he has merely known me longer.

I hope you enjoy the things I've sent you. And Merry Christmas.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

It's nearly Christmas when John gets the package, and he is a little surprised at it, sitting on his cot cross-legged as he looks at the plain brown wrapping, then slowly opens it. He sees the card and the letter, opening those first which makes him even more eager to find out what else is inside. Though the card with the beautiful view of London at Christmas makes him smile, and he pins it up by his cot before he looks at what else is in the box. The first two items he pulls out are by far the most lavish and the ones that surprise him the most. The first is a leather folder that fits a pen and pad inside, smaller than what he's been using, but easier to handle and it provides a solid back to write on. The front is embossed in gold lettering, reading 'Captain John H. Watson, M.D.' Along with it is a Space Pen, which according to the box, will write upside down, underwater or in space, as if he would ever need that. Along with that is a few refills for it, and John shakes his head a little. Below that are two sketches, which are very much better than the first ones, one of the same garden a before but there are leaves on the ground and the trees are clearly changing colors though the sketch is black and white. The second is a sketch of the London skyline, shocking in its detail. It appears to be at night if the stars in the sky are to be believed, and John can even tell which windows are lit up by the type of shading Sherlock used. For a few moments he just stares at it, taking in all the details before he leans back on his cot, still a little shocked. Everything was obviously thoughtful, and it touches John more than anything else he might receive, making him smile as he carefully puts the sketches up next to the others, smiling faintly as he looks at them all.

* * *

**Hehee.. I hope you all approve, it took me a while to decide what Sherlock might have done for Christmas. :D Thank you again for all the wonderful reviews and the many follows, it's kind of mindblowing. :)**

**Even though I am farther ahead in writing, thank you for any and all suggestions, it helps me put in little touches to later letters. :)**

**Enoy! As always, reviews/comments welcome!**


	10. Chapter 10

New Year's Eve, John sits down to write another letter to Sherlock, having actually had a relaxing holiday, as much as he can under the circumstances at least. And he ends up treating a lot of soldiers who have hangovers or were a bit roughed up from drunken fighting. He uses his new pen and the pad that Sherlock gave him, relaxing as he starts to write.

~oOo~

Sherlock,

Thank you, for the gifts. They were... beyond amazing. Very thoughtful. I didn't expect anything. And your sketches have improved, yes. They were beautiful. Thank you for everything.

As for your deductions. You were spot on. It was brilliant. I have no idea how you got everything from just a few letters. Amazing. Simply amazing. I wish I could see what you would do to a person who was standing right in front of you. Blimey.

You were even right about my father and his drinking problem. He and my mother died in a car crash, he was driving, drove the car straight into a cement barrier. Harry saw what alcohol did to our family and she still drinks. It's one of the reasons we don't really get on. I don't understand how she could do that when she saw how our father's drinking tore our family apart. All we ever do when we get together, is fight about her drinking.

It's New Year's Eve tonight as I write this. I have the night off, and I realized I hadn't written you. I'm afraid that I'm not able to get you anything this Christmas, so if we're still writing next Christmas, then I will have to get you something then. For now, all I can say is that I hope you had a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

If I'm not mistaken, you're in the home stretch now. Not too many more months until you get to go back to normal life. Have you heard anything else from that Detective Inspector Lestrade you mentioned? You said that after you got sober he was considering bringing you in on some cases. I hope that works out for you. It's obvious to anyone that you're brilliant, they would be lucky to have someone like you on their side. If for no other reason than to keep you from going to the other side of the law. Heh. I don't think you would actually do something like that though. Despite everything you've tried to do to convince me otherwise, you are a good man, Sherlock.

I have not had any more bad days, not like that one. There have been a few days where the injured have come in, but nothing as serious as that one day. No blown off limbs, no one invalided home for some time. Which is a good thing, it means no serious injuries. The worst I've had recently is treating the results of a drunken brawl and a lot of hangovers. Now, don't get me wrong, I like a pint as much as the next man, but there is no way I would drink enough to get drunk out here. Not unless I'm safe in London at a pub. Or at least somewhere where I don't have to worry about sudden surgery or needing to fight. Mostly it was some of the younger guys, though. To be expected, I guess.

As far as the phone number, it would be good to have a voice to a name, if nothing else. Let me know when they release you. Bloody hell, it sounds like you're in prison or something. I guess to your point of view it might be like that, huh? Not sure exactly when I'd be able to call, but I'm sure I can arrange something. I never really worry about those things I might have to actually ask one of the doctors how to arrange that out here. Huh. I don't think I've needed to make a call once since being in the desert. Well that's slightly depressing isn't it?

Well, seems that I will have to cut this short, I have another drunk to attend to. I hope you had good holidays, and you haven't gotten into too much trouble. I look forward to your next letter.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Sherlock can't help but chuckle as he reads the letter a few weeks later, shaking his head a little as he imagines the drunken soldiers over the holidays and John lecturing them on the stupidity of their actions. For some reason that actually makes him rather happy. What is more surprising though is the praise he gets for his deductions, he expected at least some anger or disgust, not the exclamations of 'brilliant' or 'amazing'. He has to read it twice just to see if he's getting it right, and then he shakes his head a little, wondering just what type of a man this John Watson is.

* * *

**Bonus chapter again! Because you guys are awesome, and there are 150 people following this story now. And that is the most of any story I've ever posted, I think. Which makes me bug out a little bit. And... I got some seriously awesome reviews from my last chapter, so I hope this shorter one doesn't disappoint. Thank you, everyone!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	11. Chapter 11

Curled up next to the window as the snow falls down outside, Sherlock watches the huge flakes cover the ground and pile up fast as he writes his letter, occasionally stopping to just stare out the window. This is more difficult for him because he's not exactly sure what to write in this letter so it's more stream of consciousness which for him can be very odd, but he wants John to know him, hoping that maybe he can at least a little bit understand how his mind works.

~oOo~

Dear John,

My holidays were torturous. They made us sing holiday songs and exchange hand-made cards. I hate this place. I realized that once I'm released I will have to get a new flat. I imagine Mycroft had my items put into storage, but finding a new flat is always so bothersome.

I've been thinking of a few new experiments that I want to do when I get out. I will have to find some source of human body parts for them. Deceased, of course. Donated to science as well. Still, I have some theories and ideas that I'd love to work on. I am somewhat of a scientist, but mostly I will work on anything that will occupy my mind. I have a lot to catch up on, spending a year in here.

At least it will keep me from being bored for a while. And yes, I have heard from Lestrade. I've helped him on a few cold cases, in fact. Those working at Scotland Yard are complete idiots. Some of the things were so obvious I don't know how the cases remained unsolved for so long. Idiots, the lot.

I don't think it's depressing - as you put it - to say you haven't received a call. Or to have made a call. You have one sister you do not talk to, and it seems that all of your friends are there with you. Who do you need to call? I'm your only contact outside of your close circle of friends it seems like. Any friends you might have had in University were clearly not close enough to you that you stayed in contact with them. I don't see, therefore, what the problem would be. Perhaps this is one of those social things which I merely don't understand.

There are new people coming in this month and some leaving as well. It seems the new year is the time for resolutions and changing your life. Half the people coming in won't make it, I can see it. I've seen a few people like that while I've been here. They check themselves in but they can't make it. They don't have the willpower.

The snow is falling now. Big flakes, it's accumulating fast. It's beautiful. I don't think I could capture it in a sketch, or else I would try. I don't have a camera otherwise I would take a picture for you. It's really quite beautiful. It made me think of what you said about not seeing snow for years. I thought that this is something you might like to see. I hope we have a white Christmas next year so you can see the snow.

I feel like I'm starting to drift away, getting lost in my own mind. I practice a form of memory retention, I call it my Mind Palace. I store things away in places, in rooms within it, and as long as I can find my way back to it, I can recall anything. I only retain things that are important, of course. My mind is my hard drive. I think I've said that before. A way to escape the boredom here is to go into my Mind Palace, reviewing things. Books I've read, experiments I've done, science journals I've read. It's harder to get out sometimes than others. If I don't get out of here soon, I might get lost in there one day. Just wander around and not come back. I wonder if that's possible.

The snow is making me melancholy. I think I'll try to go for a walk around the grounds, clear my head. I hope everything is well with you.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

When John gets the letter, he gets very worried about the end, not wanting his friend to disappear. He doesn't want to lose one more person. He can't do anything immediately though, so the only thing he can really do is write and try and convince Sherlock to wait a few more months. The rest of the letter actually makes John smile, especially as he thinks about the snow that Sherlock described. Still, he stares at the ceiling as he thinks about the strange man back in London, wondering what he could do to help.

* * *

**Thank you all for the amazing follows/reviews! I have gotten some genuinely wonderful reviews. Thank you for still reading! I hope that you don't think Sherlock is too out of character in this chapter, but I think that for a lot of people, especially socially awkward or introverted people, it's easier to pour your heart out in words to someone you probably will never meet, than it can be to have a meaningful face-to-face conversation. Or it could just be me. Lol. :)**

**I really do think that to be in someplace as limiting and confining as a rehabilitation facility would be very difficult for someone like Sherlock, especially if he is not there by choice. But don't worry, our favorite doctor will get him through it! :) Thank you again for reading, I hope I won't disappoint!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	12. Chapter 12

When John write back, it's nearly Valentine's day, though who decided to mention that around the base the doctor might never know. Either way it's not a great time, but he takes solace in knowing that Sherlock probably is having a bad time as well. The doctor amuses himself by thinking about what Sherlock must be going through with Valentine's Day, a day he surely hates and surely they have made him do some sort of event he'll complain about. He finally finds a few hours alone and sighs as he sits down to write his letter.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

Don't give up. It's only a few more months and then you can go back to doing your detective work and your experiments. Maybe you shouldn't go to your Mind Palace so much if you get lost there. Maybe not lost, but if you'd rather be there in the real world, then maybe you shouldn't go there so much. Focus on your sketching, or perhaps you can write out your experiments, your theories. Design your experiments, it would give you something to do, a way to exercise your mind. Or maybe you could try something else, like writing fiction. Surely that's far enough outside your experience to offer you a challenge.

I wish I could have seen that snow, it sounds like it was beautiful. It's Valentine's Day soon, and for those of us without someone to celebrate it with, it's sort of a cruel reminder. Whoever brought it up at least. Still, I imagine that you have some interesting activities you're participating in right now. No doubt getting lots of Valentine's, hm?

I hope you're wrong about the new people coming in. I'm sure you have seen your fair share of people like that, who don't have the willpower, but I still hope you're wrong. I hate to see people destroy their lives.

I can see some of the other doctors and nurses getting burnt out. They'll request for a transfer soon or get cycled out. They can't take the battlefield. I seem to thrive in it. I never feel so alive as when I'm helping to save someone, or helping them to get better. Even if it is simply sitting by someone's bedside and talking to them so they don't lose hope. That is the real killer. Losing hope, losing your will to live. That is the worst thing that can happen to an injured man. I've seen it, a person on the way to recovering but they give up all hope and their body shuts down for no apparent reason. Medicine says that they should be getting better but they get worse instead, all because they stop fighting.

So I hope you don't stop fighting.

I had to stop writing after that last sentence, there was an emergency which I was needed for, sending more young men home. Why do I always see the young men? No, don't answer that, I know the answer. Because the older ones are smart enough to move, or they die first. And by older I mean the soldiers that are around my age or a little older. So not that old.

I think I'm going to finish this up, it's been almost two days since I started this letter, and I'm not really sure where I was going with it. I need sleep, but I wanted to get this out, since the mail pickup is today. I hope you are well. Happy Valentine's Day.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Sherlock did indeed have a frustrating Valentine's day, but by the time he gets John's letter it's already passed, and he sigh as he reads through the letter, going back and reading some of the others, then he looks at the newest one again, reading it a second time. He can't help but smile softly since John is trying to comfort him through words, such a compassionate person, he muses.

* * *

**Today, unfortunately, I am posting this to leave this message. I found out today that someone on another site plagiarized this story and posted it as their own. I wanted to tell you all that this is the only site I am posting this story on, and I have never posted a story under any other name than Pakmai. I am really quite frustrated/annoyed by this, but I am trying not to let it bother me too much. I will continue posting here since I have so much done on this story and I really do enjoy it. But please, if you think you see my stories on other sites, and they are no under the name Pakmai, know that they are not me.**

**Thank you to those of you who are still reading this, and I hope that you continue to enjoy it.**

**Comments/reviews welcome.**


	13. Chapter 13

Since not all of the new arrives are as put-off by Sherlock's attitude as others, it's starting to make him a little uncomfortable, causing him to wait a few days until he has some alone time so he can write John again, but he's a bit frustrated by that time, and since there are no locks on the door, he jams a chair under the handle just to keep from being disturbed.

~oOo~

Dear John,

Valentine's Day. It was created by a greeting card company to create more sales. At least how it is today. I despise it. You are correct that they insisted on doing some ridiculous events for Valentine's Day, and a Valentine's version of Secret Santa. I believe I have a young woman besotted with me now. In fact, several of the newer arrivals seem to be more immune to my behavior, they are not as put off by me as some of the others are and therefore I have been bothered incessantly by them. We have no locks on our rooms, so I have had to put a chair under the handle of the door in order to ensure my privacy so that I can write this letter.

The attention from the woman who I was forced to give a Valentine from is the most annoying however, she seems to think that I was making romantic overtures when I was merely completing the assignment I was given, which I was informed was not optional. This is why I dislike dealing with women, they read into everything that happens. You cannot merely be straight forward with them, they apparently have rather delicate feelings. I have tried to make it clear that I am uninterested but she apparently is not wanting to understand. Which is why I am reduced to blockading myself in my room merely to get away from her.

I want to leave. I have very little time until I will leave, thankfully. If you believe your letter will reach me after April 1st, then I will include a new address where you can send the letter, since that is when I will be released, and I have been assured my brother has arranged housing for me. It will only be temporary but it will be a place for me to get back on my feet in. It shouldn't be difficult, but I have been out of things for almost a year now.

I have already arranged with Lestrade that should they have a case that is over their head, he will contact me. I am hopeful that after I have helped him with his cold cases, I will hear from him soon. I did take your advice and started to write out some of the experiments I want to do, what I hope the result will be. It did help occupy my mind for a while, thank you for that. Fiction writing however, I could not do. I am not prone to flights of fancy as I am sure you well know by now. I would not have the imagination or the writing skill to create such stories.

I have been deemed fit for release when my time comes up, no lasting physical damage to either my veins or any other part of my body from my drug use, you will be glad to know, Doctor. Most importantly there is no damage to my heart or my mind.

Well. It seems as if I have been found. I will finish this letter, then. I am sorry that you had another bad day, where you had to put your skills to good use, but I think that they would be in no better hands anyone could be in, from what I have read about your skills and what you have told me. You seem to have incredible focus, clarity and confidence in your skill, when it matters the most. So even though you had a bad day, I am glad that you are there for the others.

I look forward to your next letter, hopefully after I get settled into my new flat and away from this facility.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

Reading about a woman having an infatuation with Sherlock draws out two reactions from John. At first he merely laughs at Sherlock's reaction to this woman, and then he feels something else, more uncomfortable and awkward than the amusement. Something that he pushes aside, not wanting to deal with anything like that in regards to his friend. Quickly, he moves on through the letter, relieved when he reads that Sherlock has no lasting damage, and extremely touched that this man, the one that has never met him, only knows him through letters and through whatever he managed to scrounge up on him, has so much confidence and faith in him. And considering how much disdain he normally shows for people, John finds it to be even higher praise.

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**And here is Sherlock's side of Valentine's day. :D I have to admit, I loved the idea of some strange person in that facility with Sherlock becoming obsessed with him. Not so unusual maybe since I'm sure more than one of us are. ;)**

**Thank you to everyone by the way, not only for your reviews, but your incredibly support of my writing. The plagiarized version of this story has been removed. Also, I think I am going to make posting this twice a week a regular thing since I seem to come up with some reason to post two a week pretty much every week. So why not make it a regular thing? You guys are amazing and I am so grateful and flattered that you enjoy this so much. Thank you again!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome! :)**


	14. Chapter 14

The next letter John sends to Sherlock gets sent to his new address that the other man provided. He is worried that maybe it will arrive before Sherlock is moved in, but if the doctor sends it to the original address he has for his pen pal, it might not be received at all. John is tired when he writes, though at least it isn't because of long surgeries this time. Still, it takes him a few minutes to focus and his handwriting is not as neat or evenly spaced as it usually is.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are in your new flat by the time this gets to you. I would like to apologize ahead of time for my atrocious handwriting and any spelling mistakes, since I feel like I could fall asleep standing up. One of the other doctors came down with a rather nasty flu, which is dangerous out here because of possible dehydration. So I volunteered to take some of her shifts so she can focus on getting better. Some of her shifts were directly after mine though so I've been pulling doubles for a few days. But I'm not sure when I might get the chance to write again, so even if I am tired, I thought I should do it now.

I hope that moving back into your real flat gave you a break from your stalker. Hopefully she won't know where you went. Don't worry, I am sure you broke her heart by leaving so she won't try and chase after you. Although I find that to be a funny thought. Nothing wrong with having a crush or a relationship though.

Speaking of your new flat, I hope you are settling in well and you haven't driven your neighbors crazy yet with any odd smells from experiments. Walls can be awful thin sometimes, just remember that. And I hope you've been nice to your landlord. Even if you somehow don't approve of him or something like that. Just because you may not approve of social niceties does not mean you're exempt from them.

Bloody hell, I sound like a nagging aunt or something. I really must be tired. You're a grown man, I'm sure you can take care of these things by yourself, but it does seem as if you would forget things like that. Or rather, choose to ignore them because they're too bothersome or something of that sort.

We had some bad rains a few days ago, had to scramble to get some of the equipment up off the sand because of the way the rain was running and seeping into some of the tents. Of course, most everyone was rather happy about this even if they had us scrambling for a few minutes, especially if there were any electrical wires on the ground. We didn't think there would be enough rain for it to cause a problem, there never is, but it's better safe than sorry, right?

The only other interesting thing that happened is that we had a caracal that we kept seeing nearby for a few days. Seems it was curious about us. In case you don't know, a caracal is sort of a small wild cat. They sort of look like a big house cat, maybe 90-100 centimeters long. The head is similar looking to a common house cat, or maybe more like a Siamese cat, but they have huge ears. Still, even if they are cute, they are dangerous predators. Just not as dangerous as some of the others that are out here. We're not even sure why it was sticking around since we've seen them before but not more than them running for the mountains or something. Always seems more like they're migrating or moving hunting grounds. This one was more curious. The way it watched us and moved around the perimeter, actually made me think of you at one point.

And now I'm getting a little loopy from lack of sleep. Maybe that's my cue to put the pen down and get some rack time. Clearly my mind isn't working right. I think we'll be moving soon, but address will remain the same. Since the mail will still be coming from the same base, as it's still the closest.

I just nodded of. Right. Time for me to get some sleep. Hope things are going well for you, both on the apartment side and the fact that you're back in the real world now. Let me know when you get a phone, we should be moving closer to someplace where I might be able to actually use it.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

After reading the letter, Sherlock sits down at his laptop to look up caracals curiously, one eyebrow arching as he sees what they look like. He does open a window since he did start a rather odd experiment recently and he keeps in mind what John said about smells. He's never thought about those things before, but he does feel a bit chastised at what John writes to him, something that is unfamiliar for him. However, as far as the addiction is going he is fine at the moment even though he's been out of rehab for almost a month. Well, except for cigarettes. The one weakness he just can't quite kick. Sitting in his window seat with a cigarette, he starts to compose his reply a little while later.

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**Holy cow. 200 followers! O.O I am completely flabbergasted right now. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You guys are awesome!**

**Also.. I think Caracals are cool, and in my fantasy world, I would own one. Lol.**

**John trying to teach Sherlock some manners and social niceties kind of amuses me, because it's what John tries to do a little more subtly in the series. John just hasn't learned to be that subtle with Sherlock yet. I am sure he will learn soon enough. :)**

**Please let me know what you think! Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	15. Chapter 15

At the bottom of this letter, Sherlock makes sure to include his new mobile number. His paper has changed a little since now he gets to choose his own, being a bit nicer, as well as his handwriting in general since he's more relaxed and he can use a pen that he likes. It's not as if he has anything really to do at the moment, setting up his website again and getting things going with his experiments. He can do some minor things from his flat on his laptop, and it's enough right now to start putting a bit of money into his bank account.

~oOo~

Dear John,

Caracals. Interesting creatures, I looked them up to see what you might be dealing with. Surely you have enough weapons that you couldn't have been concerned about whether or not it would attack and hurt someone. I imagine they are rather stealthy however. Still, there can't be much for them to hunt in the desert so you can't see them very often. No doubt when you do they are migrating between hunting grounds. It seems only logical.

I hope you don't get the flu that your colleague has gotten. That would be rather unpleasant I imagine. Surely you have enough doctors that your schedules could have been worked so you did not have to work so many hours in a row. Clearly someone needs to re-evaluate your schedules. It seems morons abound.

I have included my mobile number at the end of this letter. I have it with me at all times, so whenever you have the chance to call, don't worry about time of day. I rarely sleep, and even when I do, I rarely stay asleep for more than a few hours. At the moment I have no set schedule, so there is nothing you need worry about interrupting.

I hope you have gotten some rest by the time you get this letter. I have been able to get a few jobs since getting into my new flat, enough to put some money in the bank and most of them I didn't even have to leave the flat or interrupt my experiments for. Detective Inspector Lestrade has yet to call me in however. I am starting to wonder if he was sincere in his previous offer.

As far as my recovery, I have picked cigarettes back up again but the rest I find no trouble with. It seems that I cannot be without a vice. Still, it's rather difficult to maintain a smoking habit in London these days, so I may have to look into patches. It was merely such a relief to be able to that I couldn't resist buying a pack of cigarettes shortly after I was released. Something I am sure my brother is quite upset about. Unfortunately that only gives me motivation to continue it. I do enjoy spiting my bother.

Speak of the devil, he's calling. Which means if I don't answer he's going to be visiting in about ten minutes. This is tedious. It seems that I'll have to cut this short, I don't wish him to get any more ammunition to use against me, nor do I want him to spoil these letters. I hope things are going well for you as well. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

Reading the letter when he receives it, John chuckles and shakes his head a little for a few moments as he reads about Sherlock's ongoing addiction to nicotine. Though he is glad to hear him consider patches instead of smoking actual cigarettes. The comments about his brother also amuse him, folding up the letter again to look out of the window and up into the clear sky, smiling as he walks out to talk to someone about getting phone time, something he's never asked for before so he's hoping that will get him some leeway.

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**Next up: Phone call chapter! Which is shorter than I expected it to be, but there will be more fun later, I promise. :) Sherlock out of rehab, yay! Now he has to deal on his own, hopefully he will be ok! But Sherlock is strong, I'm sure he'll be fine.**

**Thank you to everyone for your great reviews! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	16. Chapter 16

"Sherlock Holmes."

Having finally gotten time where he could make a call, John called Sherlock, but was not prepared for the deep baritone and smooth, posh accent. Clearing his throat awkwardly he runs a hand through his hir before he takes a deep breath. "Well. That saves me the trouble of wondering if I dialed the right number." He admits awkwardly, then quickly adds, "Sorry. What I meant was.. Hello. This is John Watson."

There's a slightly awkward silence where Sherlock takes in and analyzes everything before he speaks again. "A pleasure to hear from you at last, John." He says slowly, a slight pause before his name indicating that he feels a little odd about saying it.

"Sorry, I just got your letter a week ago. I would suggest we exchange email addresses, but there's no access out here, so letters are as good as it gets. Even though it tends to be a little slow." John says as he runs a hand through his hair, looking around at anything just to occupy himself.

"I understand. I merely meant that we had been exchanging letters for a year, without any real contact or confirmation that we are who we say we are. On either side. I was right, you're a good doctor. You have exactly the sort of calming, light tone that everyone seems to find soothing. Though I imagine you could manage a sharp military tone that would put your lowest nurse on his or her toes." Sherlock says casually, the squeak of a window being opened heard before the click of a lighter as Sherlock lights a cigarette.

Not being able to help himself, John just laughs a little at the description. "I'm going to take that as a complement and say thank you." he says with a little snicker, then he frowns. "You're smoking still, aren't you?" he asks in a disapproving tone.

"Quite the mother hen, aren't you?" Sherlock asks after he takes a drag on his cigarette. "Being a doctor lends itself to that I suppose. But to answer your question, yes, I am smoking. No, I have not attempted to look into patches yet. Yes, I do intend to, but I have more important things to do with my mind and my time at the moment." he says in a somewhat dismissive tone as he looks out the window.

"And you're an insufferable git. Bloody hell, I figured you were from your letters, but this just tops it." John says with a small shake of his head, but he sounds more amused than actually angry or upset. "Making sure you don't give yourself lung cancer or some other disease should be a little higher on your priority list than it is. Besides, if you want to work with Scotland Yard, I have the feeling you're going to need all the lung power that you can get. And smoking severely diminishes that, it's a proven fact." John says casually, sitting down in a nearby chair and leaning it back a little.

For a few moments there's silence on the other end of the line, except for the sound of Sherlock taking another puff of his cigarette. "That is surprisingly perceptive, John. And completely accurate of course. Well done, John. Very well done. There may be hope for you yet. It seems my initial assumption that you are not a complete idiot is proved." Sherlock sounds surprised, maybe a little impressed and yet there is still a sarcastic edge to his tone.

"Git." John says simply, but he can't help but smirk a little, shaking his head. "You are so incredibly arrogant, you know that? It's no wonder you make people avoid you and you don't have any friends to speak of. You attract more flies with honey than vinegar, isn't that what they say?" He asks with a little bit of amusement as he tilts his head to stare up at the ceiling.

"I prefer bees. Fascinating creatures." Sherlock says as he looks out the window. "Point taken, however, Doctor." he says as he stubs out his cigarette in what sounds like a glass dish.

Laughing a little, John just grins for a moment. "Blimey. This is bizzare. Feels like I've known you for years. This is genuinely.. quite strange." Chuckling a little again, he shakes his head for a few moments. "I finally figure out how to get time on this bloody phone and we talk about the most ridiculous things. I don't have much more time to talk." He says a little more seriously, feeling awkward again as he glances at the clock for a few moments.

"It's only natural for us to feel a certain level of comfort with eachother, while we may not have ever met, or had a conversation over the phone, we have had rather extensive conversations through letters, which I believe are more telling and a little more intimate. As you said, you can reveal much more about yourself in a letter which give you the illusion of anonymity enough that one might feel more comfortable bearing their soul." Sherlock says casually, closing the squeaky window again.

"I guess you're right. Well. On that note, I'd better go. I have to report to the infirmary soon and I'd like to get a cuppa before I head in." John says slowly, never having been good at this part of phone conversations. "It was really nice to finally get to talk to you, Sherlock. I'll try and reply to your letter soon."

"Yes. Pleasure talking to you, John. As I said, if you ever get another chance to call, don't worry about what time of day it is for me, I don't sleep for very often or for very long." Sherlock almost sounds bored, but there is some genuine emotion behind his words.

"Thanks, Sherlock. Hopefully I'll talk to you again." John says before he gets up. "Bye." he says awkwardly before hanging up, smirking a little with a small shake of his head before he goes to get himself some tea before going to the infirmary.

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**Bit of a different format for the phone, but hope you all enjoy it. :)**

**I realized something that you should all know, when writing my latest chapter, so I wanted to add a quick note in here..**

**First off, I know little to nothing about the armed forces, and even less about Britain's military (I am American). This is being written primarily for my enjoyment (though I share it for your enjoyment, and am glad you guys do enjoy it. :) ), so I haven't done any research for it and I probably won't be doing any research. This isn't for a term paper or to be published, and I don't really enjoy that sort of research, soo... I probably won't do it. Sorry to anyone that that bothers, but that's just my take on it. :)**

**Second thing is.. I am aware that these two are different from canon, but that's the fun of Fanfiction, and also this does take place 5 years before the show, at the very beginning. So obviously they would be different, in my view. Anyway, this is my take on them, I hope you all continue to enjoy it!**

**Comments/Reviews welcome. :)**


	17. Chapter 17

It's a week before John finds time to write back to Sherlock, the conversation having been on his mind a lot in the days that followed the conversation. And naturally when he couldn't sleep, lying in his cot and longing for the cool air of London, he thought of a hundred things he could have said or should have said or wanted to ask and didn't think of at the time. And by the time he sits down to put pen to paper once more he can't remember a single one of them. Of course. Still, that doesn't keep him from writing, having gathered a few pictures of his friends and him to send to Sherlock to see what he makes of them.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

We got in some new supplies and soldiers a few days after our phone call, which means that it's been busy here. I had to check over their personnel files just to make sure that I know any special allergies or anything that any of them have, and to make sure that they did get all of the shots needed to be here. The boys were glad to be rotated out, but it looks like it's going to be a while for those of us in the medical corps. Most people want out, but I'm not sure what else I would do. The Army has sort of become my life. I'm a doctor of course, but there's something different from being a doctor out here than sitting in an office and treating every stubbed toe and case of sniffles that someone comes in about. At least here I know that my skills are genuinely needed. Still, with the influx of new blood as it were, the base has been abuzz. News from home more than what we can learn through proper news channels.

It's been hotter than normal here recently, it's starting to take its toll on all of us. There have been a few times recently where I just lay awake in bed, not able to sleep because even at night it's warmer than it should be. For the first time in a long time, I actually find myself wanting to go back to London, as cold and foggy as it can be at times. For a long time I haven't cared if I stayed here or went back to London, but now.. I want to go home. I will be coming home for Christmas, I've already made arrangements. It will be strange, I don't even know what I'll do once I get there. We should get together for a pint at the very least. Bloody hell, I need to start thinking about that. Yes, I realize it's seven months off at least, but I hadn't thought about it until now.

And you were right on the phone, I do worry about my friends, and their health. Perhaps a little annoying with my insistence that I know what is best for their health. Most of the time it's true however. Since I am a doctor, I do know a few things about keeping a body healthy.

I've included copies of a few pictures a friend gave me. They're of me and a few of my friends. I thought I might test your skills and see what you can deduce about them. And if you can pick out which one is me, I'm not going to tell you. I'm interested to see how well your powers of deduction serve you.

How are things going with the Yard? Last you said Inspector Lestrade hadn't called you for any cases. Has that changed at all? I hope you are finding something to do with your time that is productive and you aren't causing too much trouble. Bloody hell, I do sound like a mother hen. I don't usually. It's your bloody fault. I'm not sure how, but you bring it out in me.

Well, other than the influx of new people and new supplies, it's been rather quiet around here. I am sure that will change now that I've mentioned it, but for now I'm grateful to have the lapse. I still have full days of course, with patients always to look after, whether it's for some bug they picked up or if it is a long-term injury care that can be taken care of out here instead of being shipped off. But it's easier when all you have to do is give medication here or change a bandage there. Good time to get caught up on my reading. If there were any new reading to be had. I think I've read all the books I took with me. Well, I suppose that's all for now, I can't really think of anything else to tell you. I just hope this letter finds you in good health.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

When Sherlock receives the letter he's not exactly in good health. He did get a job with Scotland Yard, but in his attempt to get the criminal, he gave himself a rather superficial cut across his side, but one that still needed a few stitches. It's more of a slice across his side. But it gives him time to write a decent reply to John. And like his soldier, he has thought about the conversation, mostly having wished that it would be longer, since he wanted to know more about John, but he knows there will be other calls, other opportunities.

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**And another chapter! For those of you are curious, yes I am going to have them meet face to face, and yes I will eventually have John shot, and leading up into the events of the series. Different, if course, because of all the letters and stuff that will lead up to it. Needless to say, this is probably going to be the longest, chapter-wise, story that I've done. :) And of course we'll see all the others as well, Mycroft and Lestrade sooner than the others, and perhaps Donovan. :)**

**So you all have something to look forward to! Lots of somethings actually. Enjoy!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


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